Dear Maya Angelou, the world is a poorer place without you. Thank you for the love, wisdom and joy your writing brought us. Your words gave me hope in the darkest days of my life. Your strength and dignity in the face of life’s challenges are an inspiration.
In his epic poem, The Prophet, Khalil Gibran summed up beautifully what is special in this life.
“a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, “speak to us of children,” and he said:
Your children are not your children.
You’ve just leased them until they are 18 on a ridiculously expensive payment plan
They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
Well, actually Khalil I created them in my body, as a man you may not get the enormity of that concept. And as I recall they ripped right through me.
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
Especially when they are online chatting with their friends
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
Except when they haven’t done any homework or housework or don’t text you when they said they would, then you can give them a few choice thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
They surely do, especially the 14 year old girls
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
Even when their bodies are dressed like white trash bimbo pole dancers
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
Except when they are selling their souls to Facebook and tumblr and you are paying for the internet access. Then you can get your friends to spy on their blogs.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
Note to Lou: please don’t dress like your 15 year old daughter, you will look like mutton dressed as mutton. And teenage daughter will not borrow my ruched bright 1980s clothing.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
There is nothing you can do about breeding with someone who is located very far down the food chain, so don’t waste time regretting it.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and he bends you with his might that his arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
So your scrubbing, washing and bending over backwards will go unnoticed by everyone except your girlfriends who understand the toil and the sacrifices of single motherhood.
For even as he loves the arrow that flies,
So I teach my children that love flies like an arrow, but fruit flies like a banana
so he loves also the bow that is stable.
All mothers must be stable according to Khalil. No drunken party animals need apply. That means I’m out of a job then.